


Becoming Illidan? Of followers and leaders.

by Hedonick



Series: BfA/SL: Interludes [5]
Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Dazar’alor, Demon Hunter Initiation Rite, F/M, Ny’alotha, Vale of Eternal Blossoms, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedonick/pseuds/Hedonick
Summary: Only a few weeks passed since Sylvanas Windrunner abandoned the Horde, an event which brought a lot of changes to Acharin Crimsonwing’s life: first of all a romantic relationship with the huntress Levaindil, but also a group of other Illidari who suddenly seem to regard him as their leader. Both of these things are fairly new to him and trigger a lot of uncertainties and worries with which he needs to deal. At least regarding questions of leadership he eventually finds an unexpected adviser.
Series: BfA/SL: Interludes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041546





	Becoming Illidan? Of followers and leaders.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back!  
> This is the fifth part of my second series, which takes place after the events mentioned in the previous one (BfA: Biografies); in between Patch 8.3 and Shadowlands Pre-Patch 9.0.1.  
> With this episode we finally return to my Horde characters, and first comes my blood elf demon hunter. This Interlude will further illustrate his background and prepare his story for what is to come in the Shadowlands…  
> Once again a little warning: Since I wanted to keep the POVs separated (for now), I had to slightly screw up the chronology. Acharin’s part starts more or less at the same time as Orthorin’s did, but it doesn’t have a time skip in the middle – so don’t get confused, if N’Zoth still lives at the end the demon hunter’s story.

The tickling of tiny insect legs on the elongated part of his left ear startled Acharin out of his doze and made him reach for the offended spot out of reflex. A faint crackle followed by a wet squashing sound between his fingers announced the success of his unconscious hunt. He sat up and used the mossy ground to wipe the remains of the previously quite impressive spider off his left glove, accompanied by a tinge of remorse. He actually liked spiders; they were smart, patient creatures and generally not of an aggressive nature. This one had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. After his return from the Fel Hammer, he’d decided to spend the rest of the morning idle, since he had a long evening lying ahead. For once his body seemed to have taken this as an invitation for a digestive nap, but it still surprised him that he’d actually nodded off and now his sense of time was thrown off balance.

He brushed his right hand a few times through his long black hair, just in case he’d made the acquaintance of some other guests, before he rose and stretched himself, totally unimpressed by the steep descent right beside him. He stepped forward onto the edge of the narrow terrace which was overgrown by shady palm trees as well as other exotic plants and located high up on the backside of the golden pyramid of Dazar’alor. Judging by the position of the sun in the blue sky, he was still a little early for the appointment. Nonetheless, he pushed himself off the ground and over the edge, unfolding his wings with the always satisfying scraping sound of leathery skin.

Demon hunters couldn’t quite fly, but this… this came damn close to it. Almost nobody else – with the exception of druids and their Travel Form – knew such freedom. The airflow of his Glide brushing his face and whipping his hair, the rustling of his wings in his ears and the feeling of their strength keeping him afloat, together with the certainty that he had full control over his movement, were absolutely exhilarating.

From time to time Acharin gave his slow downward glide a little speed boost with the help of a Fel Rush that catapulted him forward a short distance and brought him closer to one of the four high pillars, reaching up into the sky down at the Grand Bazaar of Dazar’alor. Moments later, he landed atop the closest one, feeling fully awake once more, thanks to his invigorating descent.

He crouched down and enjoyed the advantageous view from his perch. With his Spectral Sight he scanned the area beneath until he spotted his target, her unique and familiar aura easily drawing his attention. She was still inside the Spirits Be With You, seated at one of the inn’s tables beside the huge rotisserie in company of three other sin’dorei. They had to be her former farstrider friends, since she’d told him yesterday that she had an appointment for lunch with some of them, before she could meet up with him.

Since he didn’t intend to either put her into a hurry, or to get himself involved with her friends without being asked, he simply stayed where he was, looking out over the port and observing the arriving ships for a while. When Levaindil finally emerged from the building, he rose once more and simply stepped off the pillar. He stopped his free fall when he had almost reached the height of the raised seat of the Sky Queen, spreading his leathery wings once more. He gracefully lighted in a crouch upon the ledge beneath the huge pterrordax, the move catching the attentive eyes of his lovely braided huntress.

She waved at him in greeting with a wide smile spreading across her face which he felt replicating on his own features. His Double Jump sent him into another short Glide and fit well with the reaction of his heartbeat, before he landed directly in front of her. Still in high spirits from his free fall – or at least he wanted to believe that was the reason for his unusually cheeky behavior – he bent down and snatched a quick kiss from her lips.

Levaindil’s delighted laughter was echoed by some excited giggles from the direction of the side exit of the Spirits Be With You and awkwardly drew Acharin’s attention to the fact that the farstrider friends of his huntress hadn’t yet departed and had instead observed their coming together. He had to keep himself forcefully from executing a Vengeful Retreat to escape their gazes and felt heat rising in his cheeks.

“Sorry, wasn’t my intention to make a show... of us.”

“Oh, I don’t mind”, Levaindil said offhandedly, “Maybe now they will stop thinking I’m just being delusional. They still weren’t quite convinced that a _cold, heartless_ demon hunter can be seriously interested in me.” She rolled her eyes and then winked at him.

A low growl rose in Acharin’s throat, without him being fully aware of it while he examined the three female sin’dorei who still poked their heads around the corner of the inn in a hopeless attempt to be unobtrusive. He knew these prejudices, but he hadn’t thought that even Levaindil’s friends still believed in them. He’d gotten used to similar reactions from passersby over the past weeks, when they openly showed their affection for each other. Every time he noticed those, he wasn’t actually upset about the other’s assessment of him, but about the implied reproach directed at Levaindil; that she’d made a bad decision by being with him. His huntress wasn’t some flippant simpleton who made something like _bad decisions_.

“Just forget about it”, she pushed him gently a few steps into the direction of the stairs which led up to the Terrace of the Speakers, “But you really are cute when you blush like that.”

That made him refocus on her, turning his growl into an embarrassed cough and reinforcing the color in his cheeks. The sparkle of contentment in her green-blue eyes, when she rose to her tiptoes and fondly brushed her nose against his, told him that his reaction had turned out just the way she’d intended.

“So, what’s your plan for us this afternoon?”, she asked affably, while a group of native fishmongers passed them, balancing huge baskets with goods on their shoulders.

The question made the alluring spell her presence had cast on Acharin burst like a soap bubble. Her inquiry was an allusion to far more than the simple question itself implied. They had had an intense discussion about two weeks after his recovery from his loss of control, because he’d started to depend a little too strongly on Levaindil’s suggestions regarding upcoming decisions and ever since then, they both payed more attention to his former intent to become his own leader. The last time, it had been her who proposed an activity for their time together, hence he’d known his turn would be next, but he’d pushed it completely to the back of his mind. Not wanting to admit this, he hastily replied the first thing that came to his mind; the thing that had already become his standard answer to similar questions:

“Go help beat back the invasion in Uldum.”

“Okay.”

Levaindil’s slightly delayed reaction and the carefully neutral tone of her voice irritated Acharin.

“We can also do something else if you don’t like it.”

“No, no… I just expected something, which would take us to some… nicer place than that furnace.”

“Well...”, he unconsciously scratched his upper arm with the other hand, “We can also go to the Vale. The Rajani could probably use our help against some of the invading enemy clans. And it does look _nicer_ there… with all those pandaren houses and the trees.”

Levaindil chuckled, brushing her braid of light brown hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, let’s do that.”

–.o.O.o.–

During their flight on the pandaren kites – which were equivalent to wyvern in these foreign lands – toward the Shrine of Two Moons in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, it dawned on Acharin that his huntress had probably expected a more… extraordinary activity, hence her former amusement about his suggestion. When it had been her choice, they had traveled to the Broken Isles and to Suramar, the home of the nightborne, where they had first enjoyed a tour on one of the self-driving boats through the canals and the harbor of the impressive city. After that, they had spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the ancient ruins of the Crimson Thicket and Kel’balor. He sighed inwardly. Well, now it was too late anyway. He would try to think of something better for the next time.

Soon, the swift kites passed over the graceful structures of the Gate of the August Celestials and then in between the Emperor’s Approach, with the two immense stone statues of armed mogu who had been cut into the sides of the rock peaks growing out of the valley floor. After their landing at the Shrine, they handed their kites with a word of thanks to Tania Summerbreeze, before they switched to their own mounts. With a slight boost of fel to reinforce the muscles of his legs, Acharin jumped straight up into the air, just high enough, so that his Felbroken Shrieker had the time to heed the call and catch his master in the wide saddle fixed on his back. Levaindil blew into a whistle clearly of pandaren origin, before a huge bird, well attuned to her own armor and hair color, with red, orange and brown plumage appeared above them with a crow, diving to welcome the huntress onto his back.

“It still strikes me as a little cruel to force a bat to carry you around in bright daylight. They are creatures of the night after all”, Levaindil teased while they flew side by side across the Valley.

Acharin snorted and gave the reins of his mount a rough pull, making it squeal in irritation. “It’s a demon bat, they aren’t worthy of your concern.” Then he leaned forward to scratch the pointed ear of the beast apologetically, “And I don’t think Screech minds much. He has basically the same eyesight as I do. Brightness doesn’t affect it a lot.” He smirked. “But are you sure your overgrown chicken doesn’t belong in a boiling pandaren noodle soup?”

The huntress gave a hearty laugh, accompanied by an indignant squawk of her mount which wasn’t clearly identifiable as a reaction to the Illidari’s words or the sudden noise from its rider.

“Here we are”, she announced some minutes later, leading the bird into a dive towards the Setting Sun Garrison, which had appeared in between the golden leafed, white barked trees beneath them, which were so similar to the ones back in Quel’Thalas.

Acharin slid from his mount midair, pulling the spiked warglaives from his back, and stopped his fall just short of the ground with a quick Glide. He dropped right into the middle of the first Dokani camp. The three mogu around him were caught off guard, but reacted quickly, drawing their weapons and charging him. He smiled mischievously, stopping them short with a Chaos Nova, right before they reached him. They were still stunned from the fel explosion, when he already slashed at one of them with a Demon’s Bite, and then proceeded into a Blade Dance, inflicting lightning-fast painful cuts to all of his opponents at once. A well placed Chaos Strike finished off one foe who was quickly joined in death by one of his colleges. The third mogu dropped dead in front of the demon hunter’s feet with an arrow piercing his throat, when Acharin turned to face him.

“Show-off!”, the huntress chided him fondly, carefully aiming her next shot at a patrol consisting of an Anima Construct and a Bloodshaper, which merged on them.

He grinned and then Rushed after her arrow, eager to pick up the fight with their next two enemies.

There was no need for any fancy battle plan to beat back the invasion, and to help out their allies from the Golden Lotus. They simply needed to cause enough havoc – something he was quite skilled at – to draw the attention of the leader of the current attack. As soon as he revealed his position, they would seek him out and eliminate him. Without their leader, the mogu would stop their advance on the Vale… for some time.

“How are your Illidari friends doing, by the way?” A squelching sound followed Levaindil’s question, when she yanked one of her arrows from the corpse of another mogu on the ground in front of her.

“Fine”, he answered, casually deflecting the swing of a metal arm aimed at his ribs, before he smashed in the anima container of the strange mechanical being attacking him, disabling it ultimately. “Rael’nar and Shanara still spend a lot of their time training or fighting with the raiding party they joined.”

To be exact, they now spent almost all their time with the members of their group of raiders and didn’t have as many hours as in the past to spare playing hearthstone or simply exchanging experiences with him and the others. Acharin couldn’t blame them for it. They had managed to be accepted into one of the strongest units of combatants on the side of the Horde, who was specialized in going up against the worst foes in existence. Their frequent absence had been one of the reasons why he’d asked Rael’nar if he could help him get into a similar raiding group. The older, well known Illidari had done what he could. Although none of the top groups had been interested in Acharin, he’d finally managed to join the support unit of an average group; the exact one with which he had another appointment this evening in Ny’alotha.

Finding another way to do something against N’Zoth without his friends hadn’t been the only reason for his choice. The hours spent training or fighting with the others of his group also provided him with an easy way to escape the attention of some of the Illidari who had started to seek him out to try and get orders from him. That still freaked him out regularly, but before, it had grown so bad that he’d caught himself starting to go into hiding whenever he’d spotted another demon hunter – something that hadn’t slipped Levaindil’s attention either. Now he could excuse himself with honesty, if his usual instruction, which was to go and fight the invasions caused by the presence of the Black Empire in Azeroth, hadn’t been enough to chase them off.

“And the others… are okay, I guess.” He swung his glaive in an arc to shake some of the mess off which had spilled out of the Construct.

As usual, the huntress immediately caught on to his attempt to evade her inquiry, throwing him a piercing glance, while she shot an arrow – and hit her target – in another direction. “Are you still avoiding them?”

He sighed, gutting one of the mogu casters who had already caught a bunch of Levaindil’s arrows in his chest and struggled to stay erect. “Yes”, he admitted grudgingly with a growl.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that. I mean, they are in the same situation as you, right?” She turned, putting some distance between her and a charging attacker with a Disengage. “They are just looking for someone who confirms to them that what they are doing is still the right thing.”

Acharin jumped forward, yelling a demonic curse – something which seemed to upset most enemies inordinately – at the same offender who now turned his attention to him instead of the huntress. “Exactly. They are in the _same_ situation.” He ducked nimbly, to avoid a spear hurled at him from some distance. “I’m not the right person to take away their unease. They have to find their own way, just as I’m trying to. I’m not their leader!”

Even the thought of it was ridiculous. What were they suddenly thinking? They had never treated him as someone worthy of following before. Why did they have to start doing so now? For once, he would have actually preferred their contemptuous treatment of him, to which he’d been used to before he had ingenuously disrupted their plans to return to the Vault of the Wardens, weeks back, after Sylvanas’ abandonment of the Horde – and them. After all, nothing had changed regarding the reasons why he’d never had a chance to belong to the most highly regarded ones of the Illidari, after his rise into their ranks years before.

–.o.O.o.–

In the night of his initiation rite, Valmin had been scared to death. He hadn’t dared loosening the grip on his sword and shield for a second, out of fear his hands would start shaking so badly he would drop the weapons, while he walked toward the portal to the distant realm, escorted by the two full Illidari evaluators. Never before had he fought demons in one of their worlds – where they were strongest – all by himself. He’d always been part of a group of soldiers or aspirants and that had already been bad enough. To finally become a demon hunter, and despite everything that was something he absolutely wanted, he had to catch and kill one of the fiends all by his own tonight.

To calm himself, he’d tried to remind himself that he’d prepared well for this. He’d studied all demon races at length, he knew – in theory – all their strengths and weaknesses. He’d trained his combat skills over the past months thoroughly. He’d also searched out as much information regarding the initiation rite as was possible, considering that most demon hunters didn’t talk about their own experiences in that regard. He knew the rules of the ritual and his recent order from the Ashtongue alchemist corresponded with those.

His plan had been to search for one of the wyrmtongue demons. They were cunning, but not as smart and physically by far not as strong as other demon races, but still considered full demons, not lesser ones like for example imps. That he needed a full demon for his initiation rite had become clear quickly; he had been told stories of _idiots_ , who had tried to make it through the ritual by catching an imp. Every Illidari had known that the chances to survive the transformation into a demon hunter with only an imp bound to them were virtually nil. Whenever an initiate tried though, they didn’t stop him, but instead watched his downfall with contentment, knowing they were spared someone who would only have turned into a burden to their mission.

To Valmin’s dismay, the small world they had arrived in hadn’t been inhabited by any wyrmtongues. Terribly worried, he had given the vigorous and aggressive terrorguards and annihilan, as well as the vicious and intelligent inquisitors and observers a wide berth, only leaving him with one other choice: he’d also spotted a lair of aranasi in one canyon. In front of the web covered cave, he had gulped down one of his Invisibility Potions. Almost immediately he had heard the irritated voice of the night elf evaluator addressing the other Illidari, but the older, partially gray haired blood elf had appeased the other’s outrage, telling him something along the line of: if he were a rogue instead of a warrior, he would be allowed to use his Stealth too.

Relieved about the confirmation of his surmise, but still unnerved by his unfamiliar and very dangerous surroundings, Valmin had stalked through the lair, careful no to touch any cobwebs which would alarm the swarm. The canyon had been bustling with lesser aranasi, who looked not much different from common spiders; as long as one considered spiders as large as wolves normal. Still, in his opinion, the spider demons had been far less horrible than many other demons, and they were at that time the only chance for him to survive the whole adventure: by reaching the Brood Mother of the lair, a full demon, and capturing her.

Against all odds and mostly thanks to his Invisibility Potions, his plan had succeeded. Cowardly like a rogue – or back then in his opinion _smart_ as a rogue – he had reached the full grown aranasi in the center of the lair without being noticed. He had caught her completely off-guard and had been able to escape the lair with her at sword-point. First she had threatened to set her lesser aranasi on him, so even if he had managed to kill her, they subsequently would have torn him to pieces. But when he had told her that two full Illidari accompanied him who would wipe out every last one of her children, if he should be harmed, she had complied to protect her swarm. It had been an utterly false and in hindsight admittedly dishonorable threat, since his evaluators most likely wouldn’t have batted an eye if he got killed there… but it had worked.

Back in Outland, the aranasi Brood Mother had sacrificed herself for her children, who hadn’t actually been in any danger, and he had become a demon hunter, strictly speaking without having properly fought a full demon all by himself; not physically at least. Valmin had shed his birth name, henceforth calling himself Acharin, and – unlike many other demon hunters – had kept his last name, planning to finally give his father some competition and to make people recall the name Crimsonwing for something else than cloth trade.

It had soon looked though, as if that personal intention was deemed to fail, because after Acharin’s ascent into the ranks of the Illidari, his night elf evaluator hadn’t missed a chance to disparage him. Arduen Soulblade hadn’t been amused by the sin’dorei’s ruse to catch a demon for the initiation. In the kaldorei’s eyes it had been a despicable and cowardly move, not to proudly fight and cleanly subdue a demon in a brawl. It hadn’t helped that Acharin had never turned into a typical Illidari who charged self-confidently into every confrontation with a demon, thriving on the chaotic powers within him. Although the evaluators weren’t allowed to talk about what exactly happened during initiations, the night elf had found options enough to present Acharin to his peers as unworthy of the arcane tattoos and the title he wore. Rael’nar Shadowblade, the other evaluator present at his initiation, hadn’t been of much help in that regard either. The unusually old and unconventional sin’dorei who was feared by many of the young demon hunters for his strictness, had never cared about the pecking order among the Illidari.

Only after Soulblade’s death during a mission, and hence the vanishing of the one source Acharin had never trusted to permanently keep the secret of his initiation to himself – of which he by then was almost as ashamed as the night elf had made him believe throughout the years – the constant bad rumors about him had started to die down. His reputation as a coward who was afraid to fight and one who had only become an Illidari by chance – by accidentally surviving his transformation – had persisted, though.

Despite the ugly aspects surrounding his transformation, Acharin had never doubted his choice to become a demon hunter, only the manner in which he’d reached his goal. Elsewise, he still was proud of himself: he’d overcome his fear of demons and the Burning Crusade for Lord Illidan and the stern kaldorei’s dreams, because at that time, Acharin had been sure this was the right thing to do. _You are a smart elf and deep down you know what’s right!_

Whenever he thought of his past, he was now reminded of Levaindil’s words to him after his loss of control. He only wasn’t sure anymore if his choices actually had much to do with being smart. Had he followed his Master’s lead, because he himself had felt that the night elf’s plans were _the right thing to do_ , or had he simply been lucky, that Lord Illidan indeed had done the right thing? Could it just as well have happened, that he would have done something completely else… maybe _joined_ the Burning Legion, if Stormrage, with his talent to convince people of his plans, had told him to do so?

Acharin had no idea, and this worried him every time he thought of it. He knew the feeling which accompanied this uncertainty: it had been in the back of his mind the whole past year, and he was convinced that if he would now switch into his demon form – if it even worked – he would be challenged by the same troubles with his Metamorphosis as back before his loss of control. The easiest would have been to stop thinking about the whole thing, but since he also knew how bad not-thinking-about-something had ended for him the last time, Acharin now tried to solve the rising issue. How did one decide, if to do or not to do something was right or wrong… and especially if this decision didn’t only influence one’s own life? He still had no clue how he could find an answer to that question, but he at least was aware that he had to try exactly that.

–.o.O.o.–

Levaindil’s pleasant laughter brought him fully back to the present. Lost in thoughts of his past, his instincts hadn’t stopped him from continuing to efficiently butcher the mogu and their mechanical subjects.

“What?”, he asked, only now taking in the result of their carnage. Not much was left standing of the dokani encampment. Corpses lay everywhere, puddles of blood soaked the ground around the destroyed Constructs, and remnants of tents, which had been ruthlessly trampled by the mogu in their attempt to stop the two sin’dorei attackers, were scattered across the whole area of the Setting Sun Garrison. The picture didn’t fit well with the otherwise peaceful trees and wooden pandaren buildings adorning the area.

The huntress lowered her bow, still smiling to herself, but she hesitated a moment, fiddling around with her braid, before she explained the source of her amusement. “I don’t mean any offense, but... fighting at your side for an extended amount of time always makes me feel as if I suddenly turned into a warlock. With a demon companion who attacks whatever I point him at and gets attacker’s off my back.”

“And that’s... bad?”, he asked, feeling unsure about the meaning of her description. On the one hand, the teamwork of a warlock and his demon was crucial for his survival in battle, on the other hand, if the huntress felt he was acting like a pet, this could also be interpreted as another gentle reminder to rethink his behavior around her.

“No, no!”, she hastily assured and stepped beside him, making eye contact with him by staring up at his blindfold. “That wasn’t meant as criticism. I only wanted to say that we are working wonderfully well together… and I enjoy this a lot. Really. I’m sorry for acting... skeptical after your suggestion to do this.”

He smiled in relief, a pleasant warmth spreading through him as a reaction to her words. He stuck the tip of his right warglaive into the ground to free his hand, and then gently brushed some strands of her light brown hair, which had come loose during the fighting, from her face back behind her pointy ear.

“In that case, I don’t mind being your demon pet for a while… as long as you don’t plan on casting any sacrificial spells.”

She chuckled and caught his hand, pressing a kiss on his palm. “Never!”

A distant shout from the retreating mogu drew their attention.

“Something tells me we should hurry and catch up to those. That should finally lure out our real quarry.”

He shouldered both his weapons and readied himself to mount Screech once more. The huntress nodded approvingly, already lifting her own whistle to her lips.

Acharin had been right. Although they tracked down the fleeing mogu easily on their flying mounts, some messenger must have already gotten away, because soon after, a shout booming through the Valley announced the arrival of the leader of the invasion who challenged them personally. At the top of the Golden Stair leading to the Gate of the August Celestials, the Warlord of the Zan-Tien awaited them. Red skinned and clad in heavy armor, Torsheg sat proudly on the back of his Warserpent, when the two blood elves finally reached him.

“I challenge you to single combat!”, the Warlord yelled, dismounting and beating his chest, “Who of you two meddling outsiders goes first? Or do you not know any honor?”

The Illidari inquiringly raised an eyebrow at Levaindil. “May I?”

“Sure. He’s all yours”, the huntress shrugged, “I’ll put an arrow into anyone who tries to interfere.”

“Thanks.”

Torsheg didn’t prove half as good as his boasting behavior had indicated. Most of his attacks were sluggish and easily dodged by the nimble demon hunter, although Acharin had to give credit to the mogu Warlord that he could take quite a lot of hits without showing any signs of significantly growing weakness.

To speed things up a little, the Illidari avoided the next frontal Ground Slam of the mogu by jumping into the air and transforming mid flight into his demon form. The impact of his landing stunned Torsheg for a few seconds, allowing Acharin to easily land some even more devastating hits, further enhanced by his Metamorphosis.

The duel was decided within the next half minute. Against the empowered demon hunter, the Warlord didn’t stand a chance.

“Another... will take... my place...”, were the last, prophetic words that passed his lips, before the spark of life left the leader of the zan-tien’s eyes.

Levaindil’s rejoicing for his victory made Acharin – still in his demon form – turn to her. When his gaze fell upon her, he suddenly felt a boiling surge of hatred rise up from deep within. The abrupt urge of his inner demon to free himself and attack the huntress was almost overwhelming. Deeply shocked, Acharin immediately dropped his Metamorphosis which – to his endless relief – worked without any problems.

The ever watchful eyes of his huntress still must have caught something of the fear in his own face, because the joy left hers and was replaced by concern. “Are you alright?”

He wasn’t quite sure why, but he instantly knew with dead certainty that he didn’t want to worry her with… whatever this just had been. But she also wouldn’t fall for any evasive explanation.

Thankfully, one of the Onyx Warserpents close by offered him a handy excuse. The wingless but nonetheless flying dragon had just spotted Levaindil, who still stood some distance off to one side of the stairs.

“Watch out!”, he warned, and hurled himself into the direction of the black scaled animal with a Fel Rush.

The huntress quickly stepped out of the Lightning Pool which had been spit at her feet by the Warserpent, while she simultaneously nocked an arrow enforced with arcane magic. Together, they made short work of the mogu dragon.

“Thank you,” the huntress said afterwards, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

A part of Acharin became wary at the gesture, half expecting his inner demon to react to it, but nothing happened. For the moment, it would probably suffice if he passed on using his demon form near his dear friend. Nevertheless, he didn’t trust his voice, and so he only nodded in answer.

Levaindil seemed to notice his lingering worry in the tense silence, but – fortunately – misinterpreted it. She raised a hand to gently caress the side of his face, adding fondly but firmly: “But you know, you don’t have to protect me all the time, yes? I’m quite capable of doing that myself.”

“I know. I… just felt like it.” He lowered his head and brushed a kiss against her lips. He kept it short, though, while the concerning thought grew in his mind, that he, indeed, had to protect her; not from others, in that regard she was right, but from himself. Or – to be exact – from his inner demon, who seemed to have developed a grudge especially against his lovely huntress.

–.o.O.o.–

His expectations this morning had been wrong; currently it looked as if anything but a long evening lay ahead of Acharin.

Soon after the elimination of the mogu Warlord, he and Levaindil had returned to the Shrine of Two Moons and from there back to Orgrimmar. After a short breather in the Horde capital, he had traveled on to Uldum, while the huntress – wishing him success – had vanished into the portal to Dazar’alor.

The raiding party he had joined was next in line to go up against the Hivemind, two ferocious Aqir bosses inside Ny’alotha, the Waking City, but now it seemed that the unremarkable Alliance military group before them had accomplished the unexpected; and had already taken down the two minions of the Old God.

If the cheerful yells of the group’s support unit, when they had hurried forward into the Hive itself, hadn’t already been confirmation enough, then the scene which became apparent to Acharin and the other Horde combatants was clear, when they – careful as to not offend the Alliance officers bustling about – curiously entered the room.

The two huge bugs had indeed been squashed; they lay unmoving in the middle of the platform between the towering structures of the insect lair to the left and right. Forty or so Alliance fighters were about to gather between the two corpses, in their rapture of victory unmindful of stepping into the various green puddles of poison which covered the floor in some places. It seemed his own party had arrived in time to observe the distribution of the spoils.

Acharin couldn’t help but feel jealous. Especially since the pandaren windwalker monk who was usually part of the core team, had eaten something bad and fallen ill, allowing the demon hunter to take over his spot for once. He would have loved to get a chance to actually fight the Hivemind after all the training with the other members of his raid party. Acharin gave a disappointed sigh. Fate had decided otherwise. Although, maybe it was better that way; it gave him more time to figure out if his experience with his inner demon during the Metamorphosis this afternoon was about to become a broader problem, or if it stayed between him and Levaindil.

His envy rose once more, when the worgen warrior at the center of the Alliance group presented a beautiful, captured warglaive to his audience. A demon huntress immediately signaled her interest in the weapon, seemingly the only prospect. The kaldorei priestess standing beside the worgen briefly paused the auction, addressing a male Illidari at the back of the group, who looked badly disheveled from the fighting earlier. The night elf only waved his hands in refusal and then gave a short bow in the direction of the other Illidari, even though his own weapons didn’t look better than the ones of his colleague.

He himself definitely wouldn’t have passed on the glaive in place of the night elf. Acharin frowned in bafflement and then caught the approving nod of the third figure, standing in the middle of the assembly, which was answered with a formal gesture by the male demon hunter. Maybe he had made a mistake during the fight, and his waiving of loot was some sort of penance. The – in Acharin’s experience – unusually meek demeanor of the other Illidari still surprised him, though, and redirected his attention to the other figure who had managed to command the demon hunter’s respect that easily.

To his reinforced surprise, now that he looked more closely, Acharin actually recognized the leader of the Alliance party. The guy had spoken to his soldiers before the distribution of the spoils, but Acharin hadn’t payed much attention to him or his words then, partly because they had been spoken in Common, the human language, and he had only understood every other word, since he had never felt the need to properly learn the Alliance tongue. Now he realized that the speaker had been a void elf, and that he himself had once exchanged words with him.

Where had it been again? Right! In front of the Eternal Palace down in Nazjatar. Acharin examined the other elf with renewed interest. The ren’dorei were still a fairly recent addition to the Alliance, just as the shal’dorei were to the Horde, and up until now he’d only met very few of the nightborne outside Suramar. All of them had been exceptional people among their own, before they had become known inside the Horde. Of the void elves, Acharin only knew Alleria, and that was because for her deeds as quel’dorei and for being one of the Windrunner sisters, but apart from her, there was only this Magister... Umbridge or something like that.

Curious, Acharin waited until the assembly of the Alliance party started to dissolve. The leaders of his own group were still discussing their next steps, and so he grabbed the chance offered by the involuntary break. He casually strolled into the direction of the void elf who had just managed to wiggle himself out of the groups of soldiers which were now forming around the ones with newly obtained items, swarmed by the others who probably wanted to either share their joy or express their envy.

“Sinu a’manore.” Acharin raised a hand, when the – one-eyed – gaze of the ren’dorei fell upon him.

“I remember you!”, the monk stated and verged on him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Illidari couldn’t keep a lopsided sneer from his lips and tauntingly replied in his raspy voice: “You and your party ruined my evening entertainment.”

“Oh, well. I hope you don’t expect an excuse for that.”

“Not really. But I wanted to offer my congratulations”, then he admitted: “Still stings, though.”

“I can understand that”, the monk conceded with a faint grin and then added smoothly with a glance in the direction of the other Horde combatants: “But I’m sure, you and yours will soon find another chance to prove yourselves against our foes.”

“Probably. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Orthorin Dawncaller.”

Acharin scoured his brain for the name, without yielding any results which only enhanced his curiosity about the void elf. “Um. Haven’t heard of you before”, but then something stirred in his memory after all: “Although… but no, that was a quel’dorei battle priest, if I recall it correctly.”

A strange expression crossed the ren’dorei’s features for a split second, but Acharin didn’t have the time to consider it, before the monk returned the question.

“And what’s your name?”

“Acharin Crimsonwing.”

The hint of a smile curved the corners of the other elf’s mouth. “And do you actually have crimson wings?”

Feeling challenged to do so, the demon hunter Double Jumped and then Glided a tight circle on his dark red, almost purple wings around the other elf who followed his movement with an unexpected shine in his eye. When his feet met the floor again, he explained: “Not quite. But it isn’t my name of choice, it’s my actual birth name.”

“Oh”, a rising touch of purple in his cheeks brought some color to the otherwise almost unhealthily pale features of the void elf, “Sorry, I guess I’m a little too used to your kind’s… fancy names. No offense meant.”

Acharin chuckled. He’d often enough thought something similar. “None taken.”

The color had already vanished from the monk’s face, while he was still musing. “Crimsonwing… wasn’t there a prosperous trader with that name? Cloth, maybe?”

“Yeah, that would be my father”, Acharin confirmed with a sigh. Everyone who had once stayed in Silvermoon for longer than a weekend visit seemed to remember his family’s commercial empire. “But please don’t tell him of me, in case you ever meet him. I want to do that in my own way… sometime.”

“The stakes for this to happen aren’t high”, the monk pointed out, “But I can assure you that I would respect your request in that case.”

“Thank you.”

Sudden shrieks followed by laughter drew the attention of both of them for a moment, when some of the Alliance soldiers ran apart in a panic, pursued by a small flying bug, which looked like an Aqir Darter. It was merely a tame pet, though, which the laughing gray haired dwarf mage had discovered among the spoils, and had decided to scare his colleagues with.

Orthorin shook his head in obvious mock disapproval and then hesitated, seeming to struggle with himself, before he addressed the demon hunter once more. “Would you mind granting me another look at your wings?”

The question surprised Acharin, but he complied willingly. “Be my guest!” He repeated his earlier Jump and Glide, feeling the monk’s intent stare on himself the whole time. “Jealous?”, he asked teasingly, unsure how to react.

“Yes, I am”, the monk admitted freely against the demon hunter’s expectation. “To have wings can give you so many advantages in a fight. And horns, too. Not to mention the ability to see through solid objects.”

The unusual compliment elicited an abashed laugh from Acharin, but then he hopped and flew another circle around the void elf. Beneath the honest attention of the monk, his former unease started to dwindle. He still felt slightly like some kind of uncommon weave which was examined previous to a potential purchase, but unlike what the demon hunter was used to, neither disgust nor scorn radiated from Orthorin, only fascinated respect. That was probably how Lord Illidan had felt when a group of new acolytes had met him for the first time. If one got used to it, it wasn’t such a bad thing, actually.

“How does it work? I noticed varying types of wings, horns and demon forms between you Illidari before, but I never figured out the logic behind the differences.”

Feeling oddly flattered, Acharin tried to explain as well as possible. He wasn’t sure about it himself. A demon hunter’s physical attributes weren’t directly correspondent with the demon soul bound to them. Most things, like the wings to Glide, the horns or other bodily adornments were rather dependent on the individual reaction of the transformed person to the fel. It was different with the demon form. Acharin knew that some Illidari’s Metamorphosis turned them into a guise which looked very similar to the demons they were bound to. He suspected the extent of the similarity was based on the amount of control the Illidari had over his inner demon, since his own demon form had a very generic appearance, while skilled Rael’nar’s or foremost Lord Illidan’s demon form looked very specific.

The monk’s attentiveness hadn’t diminished, when Acharin eventually ran out of words on the topic. Still partially incredulous, he remarked: “You almost appear as if you wanted to become a demon hunter yourself.”

“In another life… maybe, yes”, the monk brushed a finger over the small, eerie tentacles on top of his head, to illustrate his words, “The combat style of you Illidari is absolutely fascinating to me.”

Right. The void posed a slight problem. If a ren’dorei would attempt to undergo the transformation into a demon hunter, they would most likely die a painful death, no matter how strong they were. At least according to current knowledge. But Orthorin’s open-mindedness still posed a mystery to the demon hunter. “How old are you?”

The void elf frowned and paused, but then answered anyway. “Nearly twenty-two. Why?”

Acharin smiled, finally understanding a little better. “That explains it. You do look a good deal older, but your attitude towards us Illidari betrayed your youth”, he explained. However, that made it even more impressive, that the – especially by elven standards – still very young void elf had already been given the command over an Alliance military unit. “May I ask you something... rather personal?”

Orthorin hesitated once more, while he let his eye wander over the members of his party who were still occupied with themselves. “Yes, but I would really appreciate it if you would let me grab something to drink first. I….”

The void elf fell silent when Acharin unceremoniously handed him some of the supplies which the mage of his raiding party had previously conjured. Although he seldom actually needed those, out of habit he had still picked up something from the Refreshment Table as soon as it had appeared in front of his nose.

He checked for puddles of poison and then let himself nonchalantly flop to the floor, inviting the monk with a gesture to follow his example. The ren’dorei actually complied with the invitation, expressing his thanks.

“I mean… you _are_ a leader of some sort, right?”, he pointed at the insignia pinned to the uniform of the elf.

“Yes”, Orthorin confirmed, brushing the back of his hand over his lips after he’d quickly emptied the flask of water and accepted another one in exchange.

“In that case, you have to make a lot of decisions, right? And not only for yourself, but also for those in your troop.” Acharin glanced at the monk, who showed his consent, while his up until now only silent questions all spilled out at once. “How do you do that? How do you know what’s the right thing to do? And aren’t you afraid of making the wrong decisions, and that… well, you and mainly the others around you will pay the price for it?”

A frown now furrowed Orthorin’s forehead and he tapped a forefinger against the flask in his hand.

“Sorry, that were quite a lot of questions”, Acharin blushed, suddenly feeling very silly for addressing them to the much younger elf, “Actually, just forget about it. It’s none of my business, anyway.” He started to rise, but the calm words of the monk halted him.

“No, it’s alright. Just give me a minute to think about it.”

While one part of Acharin felt his embarrassment ease in the newly spreading silence, the other half still expected the void elf to start laughing at him. But he seemed to really take his request seriously.

“Well, to put that right, first: I’m only a lieutenant, which means I’m obviously not the one making the really big decisions. In a large part, I simply get the orders from my superiors and have to follow them… but yes, I’m the one who decides all the smaller things regarding the actions of my platoon… and, also yes, if I choose wrong, my soldiers can get hurt. During our fight against the Aqir for example, I was the one calling the shots. If I give the wrong warnings to the others or mismanage our group wide spells… in the worst case; we all die.”

Acharin nodded, eagerly waiting for Orthorin to go on.

“Now, how do I know which decision is the correct one to make? I would say the most important part is to gather as much information on the matter as possible. That will help you to make a rational decision. You need to know your subjects, your enemies… basically just all the conditions.” Emphasizing his words, the monk pointed from the group of soldiers to the corpses of the Aqir and then made a wider gesture spanning the room they were sitting in. “The more you know, the better you understand the problem which requires your decision. And you also need an open mind which allows you to look at the problem from all perspectives. If you let your emotions rule you, you’re likely to ignore important information and misstep because of it.”

In theory, that didn’t sound too hard, but…. Some orcish calls rose from the direction of the stairs and movement broke out. Acharin only noticed them marginally, too focused on the void elf’s words. “And if you just can’t get the needed information… because its not available or you don’t have the time to wait until you have it?”

Orthorin stayed silent for a brief moment, observing the soldiers. “In that case, it’s more like searching for a path blindly. It’s manageable, but it’s definitely harder. You need to trust in your own abilities… and for that, you need to know yourself. You need to find your center or inner balance, as the Shado-Pan say. That way you can at least continue in the direction in which you’ve already set out… and can stay true to yourself.”

“Are you coming, demon hunter?”, the orc warrior with the huge axes strapped to his back from Acharin’s party yelled from the bottom of the stairs in their direction. “Or do we have to arrange a faction change for you, so that you can join your new friend’s group?” He laughed jokingly, slipping a finger along the edge of one axe blade.

Bad timing. The Illidari ignored the jibe and rose, as did the monk, but he only turned half way to the stairs. “I’ll catch up!”, then he pressed quickly: “But what if you still make the wrong decision?”

Orthorin shrugged, adjusting the position of the staff resting at his back. “Well, most of the time it’s too late to change it anyway. First of all, you need to accept that, and then you have to make the best of it... but generally, you shouldn’t concentrate too much on the possible bad outcomes of a decision. That will only stir your fears, and like every other emotion, fear will cloud your ability to judge rationally.”

The demon hunter bowed his head once more. “Thanks for your advice. That was very generous.”

“Don’t mention it”, Orthorin waved his words off, “I’d call it an even exchange, since I’ve learned a lot of new things about demon hunters… and you gave me the chance to finally sit down and drink something.”

Acharin smirked. “Well then, duty calls”, he turned, deliberately Double Jumping to show off his wings once more, before he hurled himself with a Fel Rush in the direction of the stairs.

“Al diel shala.”

He heard the ren’dorei’s farewell from behind, and turned briefly, to call back: “You too!”, before he hurried with another Fel Rush up the stairs and after the others of his raid party.

As expected, it didn’t take him long to catch up to them and the fury warrior brought him up to speed as soon as Acharin stepped to his side. It seemed, his evening wasn’t quite over yet. They would help clear out the _trash_ – as the orc called the weaker minions of N’Zoth – until the path to the next boss was free. That probably wouldn’t take too long, but even the _trash_ could often pose a serious threat and had already claimed some lives, if people took these enemies too lightly.

In his thoughts, Acharin was still back in the Hive with the void elf though. He continued to be a little dazed from all the things Orthorin had said and he definitely needed to think some more about them, but what amazed him even more was the way in which their conversation had played out. He had never expected he would talk to a member of the opposing faction in such a candid manner. Maybe that had exactly been the reason. The risk was low that the void elf would ever talk to others close to him and would tell them of their delicate conversation, hence he’d been bolder in the way he’d asked his questions. Probably it had been the same for Orthorin, after all, he had two Illidari in his troop. He could have easily interrogated them. Or maybe it was just because Acharin was a sin’dorei, and biologically much closer to the ren’dorei than the two kaldorei.

He dropped that train of thought, instead refocusing on the other part of their discussion. So, _information_ was basically the key. He would try to take that advice to heart. And at the moment, he badly needed some more information about the small groups of enemies who had by now appeared on the path ahead of his raiding party.


End file.
